Throwing money in order to stifle the kicking and screaming coming from out of a social issue will only create exterminator-like results: problems won’t actually disappear, the cockroaches and termites just pack up and move elsewhere.

There is one sure way money can be used pragmatically. I’m reminded of the oldest trick we all learned in psychology 101: Incentive based classical conditioning. Remember Pavlov’s dog? But I’m not talking cookies, biscuits or atta boys. I’m talking signing bonuses, 401k’s, and even college scholarships.

Hold on-college scholarships!? But this is 2011: a time when fortune cookies just straight up tell us “You are smart,” and everyone under 30 gets what they want or they pack their marbles and go elsewhere. Free knowledge, rodent free shelter with hot water, internet, books, athletic facilities and equipment, access to a trainer, dibs on the cheerleaders and A-list treatment to all the best parties-its already compensated for NCAA’s athletes on scholarship. And that’s no longer good enough.

If only Darth Vader instead could have opened a suitcase full of bundled cash to tempt Luke with on that wild night in Cloud City. But because it was so darn windy, Darth could only offer Luke a shared control of the galaxy.

This sure wasn’t enough for former Ohio State Buckeye star quarterback Terrell Pryor. Once a cornerstone of the program, Pryor reportedly decided one or two cars wasn’t good enough for such a demanding lifestyle (where sweatpants in public 5-days-a-week is acceptable) so he reportedly drove up to eight during his time in Columbus. He was last seen in a Nissan 350z.

I know a recent college graduate up to his nostrils in student loan debt; a talented, honest guy trying to make an honest living, last seen in a ’94 beige Corolla. I believe it was a four door.

First Bush for TWO terms, now we are considering paying kids holding an 11-lb. Butterball turkey under one arm, the loaf of bread they cry about not having under the other. Who will dupe us next?

My first car was an '84 Oldsmobile we called "The Hooptie." It had a tape deck, velvet seats, and smelled of maple syrup.

Boys with access to free toys like the Ohio State football program will be boys. If you’ve ever been a teacher, you know how just one boy can disrupt the rhythm and harmony of your classroom. Put yourself in Jim Tressel’s shoes, if he were hired at Ohio State now as opposed to when he actually signed on 10 years ago. As told by the rich President behind a mahogany desk in an elegant office-let’s call him President Wormer:

“Jim I need you to manage the X’s and O’s, of course. But more importantly, we have a growing image to live up to here at The Ohio State University. We expect you to be the internal leader for the 90+ on our roster, to be the public spokesman of the program, and ideally, earn BCS bowl game reservations at least two out of every three years.”

President Wormer gets up and heads over to the mini bar, places a few cocktail napkins down. He then reaches for the glasses. The tongs and ice from a bucket soon follow. Then comes the sobering question. The one that fools Tressel into thinking his boss is in touch with the common man’s world. (When in actuality, he paid his secretary time-and-a-half to do weeks of private investigating so that he could frame such an inquiry.)

“Oh, and just out of curiosity, Jim…have you ever baby-sat a boatload of boys whose minds yearn for nothing but fast food, Playstation 3, skirt, poor music, even cheaper grass and Facebook for the 14 hours they’re actually awake on a daily basis? Well, when you sign with us, we’ll pay you $3.5 million-a-year to figure out how to make our young brain-bashers the best in the country. Would you like a splash of Evian in your scotch?”

Tressel’s annual salary sounds fair to some. To others, it sounds as if Tressel, a devout Christian, made a deal with the devil. Some say brutal timing. After all, Tressel was coming into The Ohio State when Bob Knight, a legend synonymous with high winning percentages and graduation rates alike, was burning out trying to identify with today’s kids whose idea of inspiration is the poster hanging next to their beer-pong table reading, “C’s get Degrees.” Sure we must hold the coaches ultimately accountable, because that is what we do in America. And that is what Tressel signed up for in the beginning. But better coaches have done far worse and made it back to the sidelines. Former Washington State University head coach Mike Price not only kept Ryan Leaf free from mugshots and fingerprints on one of the most notorious party campuses for nearly four years, but he lead the Cougars to two Rose Bowls during his tenure. When Alabama came calling, a program that needs no introduction, Price got the marquee job he deserved. Soon after, he made one of the single poorest decisions anyone over 50 and not diagnosed a geriatric could ever make: he spent an evening at a strip club with some of his Alabama players. Price was 0-0 as Alabama’s head coach. He is now the head coach at UTEP.

Mike Price managed to win a Pac-10 Championship with Ryan Leaf as his leader in the huddle.

Jim Tressel, a championship-winning head coach at two different collegiate levels, will surely become a head coach again. When he does, let’s hope the NCAA has instituted the Reserve/Trust Bank, heavy on checks-and-balances, for all its athletes to have access to on a yearly basis.

It would go something like this:

*The NCAA develops a trust of sorts for all its athletes. Each University would be responsible for developing their own office, appointing their own treasurer to satisfy the needs of such a movement as well.

*Let’s say when a player signs his/her NCAA scholarship contract for the year, they can mark an “X” in the box to become eligible for a contract severance bonus.

*$2,500 of tax-free money would be paid to the athlete after successfully completing his/her first year of eligibility-academics including. In the second consecutive year, remaining academically eligible all the way through, the athlete’s pay would double to $5,000.

*A third-consecutive year would only yield $5,000 more. We’ll call it the cap. Upon completion of a fourth and final consecutive year of eligibility along with graduating, the athlete could earn the standard $5,000 along with a $5,000 graduation bonus. Did he or she graduate with honors? Throw in an extra grand. Academic All-American during any of those seasons? That warrants a bonus as well.

So it’s pretty simple: If the athlete has a good year on campus, assuming they use up a year of eligibility, they get paid. The NCAA’s golden carrot is dangled.

The Fab Five story is something out of the Old Testament. We all enjoyed watching them for various reasons, especially the bar they set on and off the court. They were poor young artists riding around in a Dodge Dart, wearing plain navy Hanes t-shirts during pre-game intros of Nationally Televised games and cutting down regional nets. Sometime along the way though, Webber allowed the serpent to deceive him, and they all paid for it.

Paying the athletes who are enrolled at various universities throughout America, kids who are given everything they need to survive comfortably, is taking the easy way out.

Sure it’s unfair that billions of dollars are being made off of them, but that’s all this really is–unfair. It’s not inhumane.

Nothing in this life should ever come easy-unless, of course, you already have God-given athletic ability.

In Cleveland, Ohio, he could have gone on to die a hero. Instead, last July, LeBron James decided the prospect of becoming the first global icon to don an aerobic sweatband was the wisest decision of them all.

As the Miami Heat threaten to lace up for the final round of the 2011 NBA Playoffs, June will mark the 11th month since The Decision was made. And with each passing Heat game, win or lose, thoughts on The Decision still reverberate. Philosophical LeBron theories get tossed around and dressed more ways than you can serve a pizza pie. (Of all the meaningless stories with legs-this one is Prefontaine.)

Of course this marathon is fueled mainly with ridicule. But is any of it justifiable? Is there a level of hypocrisy to be dealt with? Maybe its a cultural or political disconnect, one Joe Pesci’s character in JFK probably would decree, “this is too big for you!”

Much of the hating LeBron probably gets stems from confusion and ignorance. "It's a mystery wrapped in a riddle inside an enigma!" -David Ferrie played by Joe Pesci in JFK.

Are fans, who have every tool necessary in 2011 to better educate themselves on how the world functions, still humming to the narrow-minded tunes of, “Shut up and Play” or “Athlete’s are spoiled and overpaid”? Even worse, are the grownups who get paid to enjoy all-access passes to these games further echoing or scribing these kinds of Reagan-era sentiments with a finger wag and a wink in between a McDonald’s commercial and a book plug?

LeBron James is simply a product of society dominated by young Americans who continue to be manipulated by a scam disguising itself in four letters (it used to be two, but it’s gotten so big and powerful that its actually doubled in size over time): HDTV.

The irony is that King James forever had the city of Cleveland at his fingertips had he just signed one more long-term contract. He could have been a Saint in Ohio, a symbol of Hope-like Obama once campaigned for. Only LeBron wouldn’t have had to campaign for it. Just ball, visit hospitals and schools and generate nonprofits that come with a boatload of jobs. But who in his inner circle is going to tell him that staying in Cleveland was the right thing to do?

Not his old man. LeBron of course, was raised without a father. In fact, the public perception is that young, inexperienced males his own age do the thinking and decision-making for him. LeBron just doesn’t know any better. Never has and sadly never will. Maybe he was afraid of that kind of civic responsibility-and the idea of having to be “on” all the time.

As far as his trade is concerned, James certainly has Michael Jordan’s basketball talents. But Jordan became the greatest athlete of all time thanks in large part to the continued guidance of his father, James. When Jordan felt unsure about his team’s chances of winning a game seven against the Knicks in 1992, it was James Jordan who told MJ to be aggressive and take the initiative early on in the game, and the team will follow. Sure that bit of wisdom wasn’t biblical, but it was all the assurance Air Jordan needed to beat the Knicks and eventually lead the Bulls to their second NBA title.

Who has been mentoring LeBron James all this time, giving him direction when he needs it? Sesame Street characters? Juwan Howard?

You have to forgive him, Cleveland.

Forgive him because most of us don’t know what its like to be an A-list, multi-millionaire at 18. Forgive him because, for most of us, we didn’t need to enter an NBA locker room to see a grown man shaving for the first time. Forgive him because we watched The Decision-and for that reason alone-are just as guilty as he is for televising it.

At some point we have to understand that this is the world we live in now: where senile guys named Harold are going to trend on Google for trying to impersonate God and impressionable kids are going to take the money and fame over dirty fingernails 97% of the time.

Perhaps the real reason why The Decision keeps hanging around like a gray Seattle sky (and shows no immediate signs of termination from public consciousness) is because nobody has proposed what a happy ending would look like for James; a guy we all wanted to revere at one time.

The professionals in the entertainment/sports industry will continue to analyze the logic and morality behind LeBron’s Decision and every move he makes until he retires. Meanwhile, his fellow generation of 20-somethings, The Kardashian Generation, will probably go on selling out in 3rd person and all.

Just forgive LeBron and who knows, Cleveland, maybe your real hero will emerge in a Browns uniform.

LeBron's not so bad: Ryan Seacrest has more money than Ft. Knox and Donald Duck recently settled out of court for groping in DisneyWorld.

Does anybody out there know a person-whether it be work related, a friend of a friend, or a long-time associate of the family that makes you nauseous to be in the same room with for more than 15 minutes because all they do is talk? Topics are usually limited to soap operas, fingernails, getting wasted, Shannon’s (and God forbid Lisa’s too) life story, cute butts, traveling, more martinis, the Today Show, tanning beds, shopping, the gym, Vegas, haircuts. Rinse and repeat.

No I don’t either. But I’ve heard stories.

For every observation in life, there's a Seinfeld reference to go with it isn't there?

Now I do know people who talk a lot that I admire, or can’t get enough of, because they’re fearless leaders. They not only talk the talk but they walk the walk. And when the going gets tough, they’re right at your side, getting dirty without complaining. For the New York Jets, that guy you don’t mind talking all the time goes by the name of Rex, L.T., Bart or Revis.

Antonio Cromartie, on the other hand, has not played well enough in 2010 to call anybody an “A–hole” here in elimination month, 2011.

Everyone in Patriots nation must have had a big grin on their face, upon hearing for the first time the derogatory comment towards their All-Universe quarterback.

Let’s be fair, Cromartie even if he called Brady “Neighborly,” was going to get torched on his end of the field anyways; so why don’t the Jets try shaking things up a bit? If Cromartie wants to talk like a linebacker, why not have him play near the line of scrimmage like one. He can shadow Woodhead out of the backfield or even Welker in the slot, much like Charles Woodson did with resounding success against the Eagles last week?

There’s three reasons why this can work: 1.) Cromartie plays better in face-up, bump and run coverage. 2.) Darrell Revis. 3.) The Jets cannot trust the status quo.

1.) Chris Collinsworth gets paid a lot of money to begin his analysis with “This is a guy,” and to follow that with some insight. He did the latter exceedingly well last week in that Jets vs. Colts affair, as he basically gave us a sharp, official scouting report of Cromartie. Collinsworth pointed out that when Cromartie is playing closer to the receiver, bumping him within the first five yards of his route, he has a great deal of success. Furthermore, the NBC broadcaster’s analysis was sold and gift-wrapped right in front of us when Colts receiver Pierre Garcon ran right by Cromartie for a long touchdown, as Cromartie wasn’t even in the camera’s view before the ball was snapped.

2.) There isn’t anything I can write about Revis that hasn’t already been rehashed. But here’s one important reminder: If Revis plays the proposed role of rover or man to man with Welker in the slot, Hoody Belichik will find ways to get the All-Pro corner caught in the wash at the line of scrimmage, or trapped (e.g.: Woodhead’s long misdirection run in the last game in Foxboro, in which Revis followed Welker in motion and was eventually taken out of the play altogether). Revis Island is an entity that few teams have to work with. Put him on one side of the field and keep him there when possible. A player that is a game plan in himself, Revis is the only aspect in this game in particular that Rex Ryan and the Jets can look at once then move down the to-do list.

Less is more on Revis Island.

3.) Super Bowl winning head coach Tony Dungy’s mantra to his Bucs and Colts teams was simple: “Do what we do.” And through each season, from training camp on, they relied on the principles behind Dungy’s philosophy that he laid out from his first day on the job. The patience and trust did pay off for Dungy; but he never had to face Tom Brady at his best, as he is now (on a restructured knee nonetheless-even Jordan or Montana could never say they did the same).

The Jets cannot “do what they do” again, to the tune of last month’s embarrassment, against Brady this Sunday. They can, however, find a way to make their corners neutralize the big play threats of the Patriots, and force the tight ends and running backs beat them.

And of course hope that Brady beats himself more than he beats Cromartie.

(That’ll be the day Kim Kardashian Thinks about vacationing in Haiti.)

Do they even offer 1st class to Port-au-Prince? Free headsets?

Patriots 27, Jets 9

Sam's Town smells like a couch that has a long forgotten cheeseburger or two lost in the cushiony abyss; but the annual Derby seminar was informative, nonetheless.

They call the Kentucky Derby The Most Exciting Two Minutes in Sports. But for any horse betting novice such as myself; I had to eat, sleep, and breath horse racing for nearly a week just to make sense of it all. Crash course. Less talk, more listening. And with enough $2.00 Mint Juleps going around the Golden Nugget to alter the outcome of the next three World Series of Poker tournaments, the odds that I would wake up the Sunday after The Derby in my own bed without a.) a headache b.) anything unsavory written or drawn in Sharpie on my forehead c.) and/or any cigarette butts in my mouth, were not favorable.

While I didn’t win (surprise, surprise), I still came away satisfied with my selection and more importantly, the effort itself.

In fact, if you are ever in Vegas for Derby weekend, know little to nothing about horse racing, yet determined to bet on the race itself, do yourself a favor and attend one of the free seminars offered throughout Vegas (e.g.: The Wynn, The Plaza, Sam’s Town).

I chose to attend the Sam’s Town seminar, along with seemingly every other Billy, Dickie, Dirty Harry and Mullet Mike within a 25 mile radius of Sin City. Industry standard handicappers like Professor Gordon Jones (a favorite of Al Michaels), John Kelly, Patrick McQuiggan and Santa Anita publicity director Mike Willman spent a solid hour analyzing each and every horse in the field.

The sterling four-man panel at the Sam's Town Derby seminar.

I came in exercising caution, however, with anticipation of a catch involved. I know quirky journalists in this town who attend “career interest seminars” (a.k.a.: Pyramid Schemes), posing as one of the pigeons, for the sheer purpose of cheap entertainment; but even they assured me this was legit.

“What you have to keep an eye out for is your fellow spectators,” one journalist told me. “For reasons I will never comprehend, for this town anyways, horseracing spectacles and the local buzz that comes with it can amplify with such efficiency that you’ll see guys who live under bridges or share IHOP dumpsters-guys who don’t even own calendars or watches mind you-somehow detecting that very buzz, limp over to the casino and drop the last dollar they own on a horse.

The spectators.

“Much like yourself, I attended one my rookie year in Vegas and was buttonholed by a guy who claimed he too was a journalist. As you know, journalists come in all shapes, forms, and smells-so who was I to dismiss him as a common civilian? He did have a clip board. Anyways, we got to talking. A little eccentric, but again, most journalists over 50 are. Once a sort of mutual, professional trust was developed he tried to convince me that his sources told him PETA had infiltrated at least 17 interns who were masquerading as common infield partygoers and that they were indeed going to rush the track out in front of the home stretch in protest of the event.”

“Where did these so-called ‘sources’ come from?” I asked.

“He called it the underground wire,” he laughed. “As if I knew what the heck that was. Then he has the audacity to say, deadpanned, ‘This is 21^st Century Journalism, man. You can believe me.’”

He continued on.

“Admittedly, I was still wide-eyed enough to at the time. So I rush to make a few calls, which proved to be detrimental because I ended up sponging just 10% of the needed information to compete on Saturday.

“I should have known better when I saw him dripping Tapatio sauce into his double Cape-Codder.”

The Nugget on Derby Saturday.

Fast forward to Saturday, where I decided to become a witness to history at the World Famous Golden Nugget of all places. I showed up with a full page of notes on each horse obtained from attending the seminar.

While eagerly waiting for the race to begin, I must’ve cordially sought after twenty or so sports booking patrons for some last minute Derby handicapping insight. Call it note-comparison. Here were my favorite half-baked wagering objectives…

Sample #1

5 Day: Whose it gonna be?

Gambler: No. 19

5 Day: Let’s see (checking sheet), 50-1 odds for Homeboykris. Well with the slop they say the field has leveled out quite a bit. And Mine That Bird won last year against the same odds.

Gambler: I don’t know Moonshine when it comes to horse racing. I just heard that “Hey Nineteen” song by Steely Dan on the way over here and considered it a sign from God.

5 Day: Great song. Fair enough.

Sample #2

5 Day: And the verdict is?

Gambler: I went with Mission Impazible.

5 Day: You liked the tv show growing up?

Gambler: No it reminds me of a particular status quo at home right now.

5 Day: Enlighten me.

Gambler: See I’m right smack in the middle of an old fashioned sleeping on the couch slump and my old lady says the only way I’m getting back into the waterbed any time soon is by buying her a dishwasher. Well I gotta win big today in order for that to happen.

5 Day: If you don’t mind, let me guess, you’re in this predicament in the first place because you joked to her that you already had a dishwasher? Then she said, “What’s that supposed to mean?” And the rest is history.

Gambler: No, no. I complained about eating them boxed mashed potatoes for supper two nights in a row.

The Golden Nugget was packed like Circus Clowns in a Slugbug during the race...

Sample #3

One zesty Derby fan told me she individually put all 20 names on folded up post-its in a hat and had her neighbor, Tammy, draw three names for winner, place, and show, respectively.

5 Day: Why have your neighbor draw?

Gambler: I would’ve peaked, and my Knight and Shining Armor doesn’t like to read.

Sample #4

5 Day: Who did you bet on?

Gambler: No. 20

5 Day: Sidney’s Candy, right? You just decide to bet safely with one of the favorites?

Gambler: No, my old lady wears a size 20. Ha, ha, haaaaaa!

Sample #5

5 Day: Who ya got?

Gambler: Dean’s Kitten because my wife’s maiden name is Dean.

5 Day: That’s cool. And do you guys have any cats?

Gambler: No but I call my mistress Kitty-Kat all the time. Now that’s a double-yer-pleasure-double-yer-trouble if I ever saw one right there! (Followed by a mixture of laughs, coughs and wheezing.)

...as opposed to just minutes after the race.

Sample #6

5 Day: So who did you go with?

Gambler: Conveyance.

5 Day: (thinking) Surprise me.

Gambler: Reminds me of my second divorce. I made out like a bandit; got both coolers, both dogs, the dryer, the hot tub that works and the baby sitter (followed by an elbow poke and a suggestive look).

5 Day: Was…she…legal?

Gambler: Hah! You new here?!

And to think I chose Ice Box (finished 2^nd or Place) to take home the Roses because it reminded me of the uncommon term my late Grandma always used in referring to the refrigerator. What was I thinking?

$5-A-Day Running Tally:

Total Bets, Wagered: 33 @ $170

Overall balance versus house: -$75

Hanging and seeking answers on the 2010 Derby with retired stallion "Archie" in New England.

Upon entering the World Famous Riviera hotel/casino, I saw the poster promoting a mock stage performance entitled, “Barbra & Frank, The Concert That Never Was,” featuring Sinatra and Streisand impressionists, respectively.

Five hours and two NBA playoff games later, as I made my way out of the venue, I couldn’t help but consider who performed with silky smooth grace and excellence likened to the immortal Sinatra. While in contrast, with all due respect to Ms. Streisand, which NBA’er played, well, like a girl on Friday night.

Performed like “The Chairman”

Example 1: Paul Pierce, Boston

Love him or hate him, Paul Pierce is one heck of a basketball player-and an even better performer on the Big Stage. He will never be mentioned amongst the firmament of NBA elites such as Kobe, Wade, LeBron, Melo, Howard and Durant, but he has one important thing in common with the aforementioned six-pack; the former Jayhawk can make any shot, at any time. Sure he’s made more acrobatic field goals throughout his career, but last night’s off the dribble, fall away shot from the right elbow as the clock expired is just as transfixing as the rest.

Furthermore, the Pierce buzzerbeater could prove to be the shot that grants us access to another playoff semifinal showdown of Boston versus LeBron and Cleveland. The last time these two Eastern Conference juggernauts met in the second round, the Celtics prevailed in seven games en route to winning the 2008 league title.

I already had a bet placed on the C’s to win the series, and on Friday I took Boston to win game three, which in theory, proved to be a successful, time-honored, Vegas double-down.

Example 2: Paul Milsap, Utah

Wait! Google him later.

The rest of the Jazz were shooting the ball in the first quarter (17%) like they had some sort of hangover resulting from partaking in Jerry Sloan’s latest mandatory motivational technique, SeeSaw Bullfighting, on their day off. Milsap, however, came off the bench to make his first nine baskets, finishing with a playoff career-high 22 points, to go along with 19 rebounds, 3 assists, 2 steals.

Who Played Like a “Barbra” on Friday:

Example 1: Kendrick Perkins, Celtics

The blocky, boggy Celtic pivot Perkins performed inanimately, on the offensive side of the court anyways, or as if he had Raindrops on Roses and Whiskers on Kittens, to name a few of his favorite things, on his mind. But it sure didn’t appear to be basketball.

In 31 minutes, Perkins made as many baskets, free throws including, as Stephen Hawking has netted in his entire life. Perkins managed to commit five turnovers-the ball itself headed into his direction only 10 times. Maybe his dog bit him before the game or a bee stung him, we’ll never know. Thank goodness the Celtics “Big 4” of Pierce, Garnett, Allen and Rondo were able to generate rhythm and overcome their center’s outward display of offensive terminal psychosis.

Example 2: Denver Nuggets, Team

I called 17 different sports books throughout Vegas Saturday, curiously to know if any fishheads were still gaga enough to bet on the Denver Nuggets to win the NBA title after last night’s Clipper-like performance against the Utah Jazz. There were actually two beatniks who still believe. One in particular, came by way of Binion’s Horseshoe down on Fremont St. (Old Vegas), who happened to be wearing a “Who Farted?” baseball cap. The crux is, the ticket writer couldn’t actually distinguish whether or not it was a man or woman.

“So we’ll just say an ‘It,’ then?” I joked.

“Yeah, well the thing is, I carded the…person, too. And even the state issued ID left the Male/Female option blank. Can you believe that? Someone at the DMV was actually afraid to ask about the gender? I’ve never seen anything like it. It was one of those moments that will have me forever thinking twice before callously speaking of Reno…or hell even Barstow ever again.”

“How much did ‘It’ bet?”

“Forty Dollars.”

“Did you at least give ‘It’ a complementary drink card?”

“Oh yeah, and I even threw in a voucher for a free hat or t-shirt at the gift shop. Which ‘It’ appeared a little put off about.”

In a game three embarrassing loss (105-93) to the hands of the Utah Jazz, the Nuggets totaled more third quarter turnovers than field goals made. True story.

And Where there’s a Will There’s a Way…

Hedge (definition): Betting the opposite team or side of your original wager in order to either try and “middle” the game or to reduce the size of the original wager.

I took the Jazz -2.5 last night based on a simple formula: they are coming off a win + they are playing at home where they ALWAYS play like they are energized with some sort of covert Great Salt Lake infused Electric Kool-Aid + they had a day off for which they didn’t have to experience time zone acclimation or Jet Lag (536 miles from Denver).

It turned out to work as a win-win for me. At the beginning of the playoffs, as you may recall, I bet on Denver to win the series. Well that parlay of sorts would have only paid somewhere around $3, along with the $5 I wagered. In case the ibogaine swigging patron with the “Who Farted?” hat proved to be correct, for this series anyways, I’ll end up winning eight dollars. And with the Jazz winning last night, at the very least I drew even once the series is complete.

Now leading the series 2-1, with homecourt advantage, the shorthanded Jazz have developed a seven-man brigade in taking control of the series. Big surprise coming from a Jerry Sloan coached team, eh?

Rating “Crazy Leroy’s Sports Book” located in the Riviera

No sports book is complete without a framed picture of the incomparable Max Montoya.

Pros:

1. Unassuming, diverse, and somewhat impressive array of décor/sports memorabilia.

2. Draft Beer –Why not have better tasting beer when you can have better tasting beer? $3 for a 16. Oz Bud Heavy.

3. Sports Bar/lounge – Located just behind the main spectator quarters, the bar itself can be seen as a double-edged sword; as no cocktail waitress will prompt you for a drink every 15 minutes, but if the bar itself attracts a crowd, the volume of the game itself will be completely drowned out.

4. I don’t think more than 15 people in Vegas actually knows this sports book exists. At one point I almost felt like I had the place to myself.

5. Large, comfortable seats fit for a King.

My view at Riviera during a GREAT night for sports. Does the Sports World ever take a break anymore?

Cons:

1.Presumably no MLB package-don’t hold me to it, though. The only baseball displayed was the “Live Look-In” limited MLB channel.

2. No cocktail waitresses patrolling area-a con for those who are used to the convenience of not having to get out of your seat and walk 10 feet for a spirit or beer.

3. Though they are all in HD, there is no plasma television over 42”. Wow, it just occurred to me how White I am.

(To maximize viewing pleasure, sit in the front row, as far to the left as possible. At one point last night, I was viewing an NBA game, the NFL Draft on both ESPN and the NFL Network, respectively, a Stanley Cup Playoff game, and Greyhound racing from Palm Beach-don’t underestimate the hypnotizing power of dog racing, you can get hooked. Notable canines included: Pants on The Ground, LC’s JiggyWithIt, and Bohemian Jim-Jam.)

http://www.ustream.tv/channel/sincitytrifecta

A unemployed Detroit Lion fan, A limo driver, an unemployed journalist, a flying frog and a pocket nesting mouse discuss the hottest topics within the Wide World of Sports.